


Words And Other Wild Things

by OwlPost7



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sherlock is a nerd who is in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4173912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlPost7/pseuds/OwlPost7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repetition was tedious, Sherlock had thought, until all he wanted was to hear John say he loved him back, again and again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words And Other Wild Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettysailorsoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettysailorsoldier/gifts).



> This here is a fluffy little ficlet I wrote for prettysailorsoldier's birthday! Dani, I simply adore you. I feel so lucky to know you and to be your friend, and I hope you have a really, really great year.
> 
> Onto the tooth-rotting fluff!

Sherlock Holmes had always enjoyed speaking. Well, really, what he liked was to communicate, to make himself understood; speaking was simply the most effective means to that particular end.

He’d grown easily frustrated as a very young child when he didn’t have the words to share his thoughts with those around him. And when the words did come, he cherished them, and it was all his parents could do not to let their exasperation tip over as he narrated his thoughts aloud for everyone to hear, observing everything about the world around him since before he could string said observations into cohesion and glean deductions from them. And then when he grew older and first learnt that not everyone might want to hear what he had to say, might not want to be told they weren’t as clever as they believed or told to shut up because repetition was _tedious_ , he dismissed the concept of social niceties in favour of untarnished truth. He enjoyed sharing his deductions, and he enjoyed the effect they could have on a room of people, making them feel inferior, yes, but also at least a little in awe.

But for all that Sherlock loved words and their power, he had never come across a particular combination of them that made him feel so incandescently happy to bring to life. No other words had ever given him such pleasure to say, to hear aloud in his own voice when they rolled off his tongue every morning, every night, and every time he could manage in between.

“I love you, John.”

He didn’t quite know what it was about those four words that caused dopamine to surge forth and permeate his prefrontal cortex. Was it the slide of the _I_ , the smooth yet jagged graze of teeth against tongue of the _L_ , that caused the small, ineludible thrill? Perhaps the buzzing vibrations of the _V_ , or the easy slope of the _you_ were to blame for the tingle at the base of his spine. Maybe it was simply the fact that his favourite word of all got to cap it all up at the end.

Or maybe it was nothing to do with the words themselves, after all. Perhaps it was the way John’s ears turned pink whenever Sherlock expressed his affection, or the way he ducked his head in a poor attempt to hide the soft smile that made its way onto his lips as his eyes turned shy, midnight through gold as he looked up at Sherlock after a moment. Sherlock remembered the beginning, how bewildered John seemed every time Sherlock said the words, because apparently he’d never expected Sherlock to be quite so demonstrative about his affections. And neither had Sherlock expected it of himself, to be honest, until the first time he said it and he felt like a wild thing was finally free inside him, filling him up with the need to say it again and again, to fill the room, the very _world_ , with the words he so desperately wanted John to hear.

Or perhaps, and a much likelier perhaps, what brought Sherlock such pleasure after such a proclamation was the one John made in return, every time, without fail.

“I love you, too, Sherlock.”

Repetition was _tedious_ , Sherlock had thought, until all he wanted was to hear John say he loved him back, again and again and again.


End file.
